The last time Solomon had been to a carnival, Skulduggery had been pursuing a suspect and needed a distraction. Since it had been a murderous suspect and the situation had been dire, Solomon had actually conceded to being put in a fortune-teller's shawl. Fortune-telling, he'd discovered then, was something for which he had no talent at all.
Right now, he suspected he'd have a good deal more luck. When he wasn't half-wishing he hadn't come to the carnival at all. Oh, it was beautiful--a beautiful maelstrom of colour and sound. Everything was too loud, everything too bright; a dull throb had started up behind his eyes. He knew there was conversation happening around him as they made their way to wherever they were going, but he didn't pay much attention to it.
Gabe squeezed his elbow. "How're you holding up?"
"Throbbing along nicely, thank you," Solomon murmured back, and a moment later felt the empty chip carton taken out of his hand to be replaced with a bottle of water. The special water Kenspeckle had mixed for him, he could tell; he could see it. Pure, liquid light.
"Here. Let us know if you need to stop, Solomon."
He accepted the bottle, shaking his head just once, and carefully. "I just need to get out of this din, I think."
It was hard enough seeing the twisting rainbow current of everyone else's souls around them, but it felt as if he was walking in the middle of a supernova, sticking with this group. So he stepped aside and paused to drink, and Gabe let him go, so he could drop back to walk with the three behind them.
Almost at once it was something of a relief. No more standing by Gabe's side and sensing that wing over his head, outstretched toward Skulduggery--Lord Vile. No more having to see the way Allie's soul flickered like a candle in the wind, bright and warm but dangerously weak, except for the way Rafe's wings cupped protection around her. (It had been worse before. A tiny stubborn pinprick. She wasn't completely healed yet, for the sake of appearances at the hospital, but Rafe kept the exertion from making her worse.)
No more simple, radiating enjoyment of a half-dozen individually overwhelming souls in one place.
Maybe he should escape to the country.
"It's amazing how much angels complicate things once you know they're there," he said dryly, falling into step beside the trio behind, reaching out to find someone's arm. He found the wheelchair instead. Close enough.
Strangely enough, the shock in Barney Lachlan's soul was rather steadying. Lachlan was a mossy log. Potentially strong, with life growing from it, except that it was potentially weak as well. Weak when left to rot. Right now he was fragile, held together with that moss, but that didn't mean he'd break. He was quiet, though. Peaceful, in an odd sort of way.
"The pair of you didn't hold back, did you?" he observed. "If I didn't know any better I might think you took some sadistic pleasure in breaking people."
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Right now, he suspected he'd have a good deal more luck. When he wasn't half-wishing he hadn't come to the carnival at all. Oh, it was beautiful--a beautiful maelstrom of colour and sound. Everything was too loud, everything too bright; a dull throb had started up behind his eyes. He knew there was conversation happening around him as they made their way to wherever they were going, but he didn't pay much attention to it.
Gabe squeezed his elbow. "How're you holding up?"
"Throbbing along nicely, thank you," Solomon murmured back, and a moment later felt the empty chip carton taken out of his hand to be replaced with a bottle of water. The special water Kenspeckle had mixed for him, he could tell; he could see it. Pure, liquid light.
"Here. Let us know if you need to stop, Solomon."
He accepted the bottle, shaking his head just once, and carefully. "I just need to get out of this din, I think."
It was hard enough seeing the twisting rainbow current of everyone else's souls around them, but it felt as if he was walking in the middle of a supernova, sticking with this group. So he stepped aside and paused to drink, and Gabe let him go, so he could drop back to walk with the three behind them.
Almost at once it was something of a relief. No more standing by Gabe's side and sensing that wing over his head, outstretched toward Skulduggery--Lord Vile. No more having to see the way Allie's soul flickered like a candle in the wind, bright and warm but dangerously weak, except for the way Rafe's wings cupped protection around her. (It had been worse before. A tiny stubborn pinprick. She wasn't completely healed yet, for the sake of appearances at the hospital, but Rafe kept the exertion from making her worse.)
No more simple, radiating enjoyment of a half-dozen individually overwhelming souls in one place.
Maybe he should escape to the country.
"It's amazing how much angels complicate things once you know they're there," he said dryly, falling into step beside the trio behind, reaching out to find someone's arm. He found the wheelchair instead. Close enough.
Strangely enough, the shock in Barney Lachlan's soul was rather steadying. Lachlan was a mossy log. Potentially strong, with life growing from it, except that it was potentially weak as well. Weak when left to rot. Right now he was fragile, held together with that moss, but that didn't mean he'd break. He was quiet, though. Peaceful, in an odd sort of way.
"The pair of you didn't hold back, did you?" he observed. "If I didn't know any better I might think you took some sadistic pleasure in breaking people."